The Hollow
by the.israel.project107
Summary: When Roxas' existence is changed forever, he is forced from regular society into the depths of the mysterious group known only as The Organisation. There, he will act as a bullet for forces beyond his ken, whether he wants to or not, and will learn more about the world than he ever could have wondered. AkuRoku, RiSo.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Oh, boy, it's been a while since I last did one of these. I make no money off of the fruits of others' labours. If I could, I would be in heaven.

 **A/N:** This is a fic to offset the slow progress of events in MaH. MaH remains, of course, the utmost priority, but it takes soooo long to get things moving, I need something to take the edge off when I get antsy and impatient. So I hope you guys will like it :)

.o.O.o.

CHAPTER ONE

In a white, white room, at a white, white table, in a white, white dress, sat a girl. Her knees primly together, her blonde hair swept over one shoulder, surrounded by sheets of paper, pencils and crayons, she drew a picture.

Natural light poured through the broad window to her right, glinting off of every gleaming, pearlescent surface. In the centre of the long, white table at which the girl sat, a transparent vase held a clutch of lilies. The room was an homage to light itself. Or perhaps, rather than light… it was emptiness. In this pristine space, nothing really existed. This sort of purity, this homogeneity, this outright refusal to acknowledge that the opposite of white was not _sullied,_ led to a stifling atmosphere – an airlessness.

Marluxia, leaning against the white wall beside the white, was grossly out of place in this environment, like a stain upon cleanliness. His hair was pink, his slacks tan, his shirt, rolled up to the elbows of his crossed arms, was, God forbid, _black._ He was like a stalking shadow of some kind, or at least felt like it. He was uncomfortable, both in his jarring difference to the room, and from the room itself. There was light, but no _life_ within these walls.

Or, almost no life.

His gaze travelled along the array of pictures that had been stuck to the walls, the only colour to speak of, more drawings that Naminé had done with her pencils and crayons. They were childishly wrought, but surprisingly detailed at times. Concentration and effort were devoted to each one, and when they were done, Naminé was allowed to keep them. They were the only decoration she had. Sometimes Marluxia idly wondered if this was the girl's concession that she did not, in fact, covet such bland surroundings – but, in the end, she made no protest about the all-white colour scheme. If only she'd speak up, take a stand against Xemnas, or hell, even just _express an interest_ in something different… but no. She was the girl without desires.

The pale, empty, childlike creature that everyone called a witch.

Marluxia watched her, the scratch of her yellow pencil filling the silent room, her placid face creased slightly with attentiveness. She made no attempt to speak with him, or even acknowledge that he was present, despite his having been standing here for around twenty minutes now. Why it was that _he_ was always left to keep an eye on her, he didn't particularly know. It was a dull task, that was for certain; there was nothing so boring as babysitting someone who didn't even misbehave. She could have taken some lessons from Larxe-

Or, no. Perhaps not. One Larxene was more than enough.

Eventually, Naminé switched pencils, picking up a pale blue. With a small sigh, his feet growing tired of being in one place for so long, Marluxia bumped his shoulders away from the wall and approached her, passing slowly down the length of the table, each faintly clapping step breaking apart the hush. When he arrived beside her, he tilted his head at an angle to see what she was working on.

It was the usual basic picture of a person, with just enough personality to prevent it from being a stick figure. Naminé regularly drew people, and occasionally landscapes from pictures she had seen in books. The people tended to be those that she knew – Marluxia's scribbled likeness graced her walls, recognisable by the shock of pink hair she coloured over his head each time. Similarly, the others were easily identifiable by their most distinctive features: Axel's appearances were marked by fiery red hair and two black marks under bright green circles for eyes; Larxene was noticeable for her slicked-back blonde 'do and a mean smirk; Luxord and Xaldin were notable for their facial hair, Lexaeus for his hulking build. Zexion and Demyx were frequently drawn together, each with their characteristic hairstyles, and sitar and book in hand, respectively. Xigbar was easy to pick by his eye-patch and ponytail. Saix's hair was long and blue, Vexen's long and blond, and Xemnas, though drawn less frequently than the rest, had grey hair, the closest Naminé could get with her pencils and crayons to the man's silvery hue. Over and over again, in different poses and combinations, Naminé drew the Organisation, and stuck them to the white walls of her white room, for reasons known only to herself.

That was why Marluxia was somewhat puzzled at the realisation that he didn't recognise who she was drawing right now. He squinted slightly at the picture. When he had seen her using the bright, sunny yellow, he had assumed she must be drawing Larxene, whose blondeness was more vivid than the pencil Naminé generally reserved for Vexen's locks. He shifted around to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder as, with the blue pencil, she coloured in small eyes above a smile.

"Naminé," he asked at length, uncertainly, "who are you drawing?"

She didn't pause, the pencil continuing its scratching motion, but answered, calmly, "A new recruit."

Marluxia started, blinked, then stared down at the picture blankly. The figure in the picture appeared to be male, with spiky blond hair, blue eyes, and black-and-white clothes. He held something in one hand, _what_ precisely, Marluxia couldn't tell – it looked like a club of some kind.

Feeling something of a chill, he inquired, "…You're sure?"

Naminé finally paused, tilting her head back to look at him with her gentle yet eerily piercing gaze. "Of course," she replied, simply. "I'm a witch, remember?"

With that, she resumed her drawing, placing down the blue pencil and hovering her delicate hand over the selection for a moment before plucking up a red crayon to colour the lapels of the boy's jacket.

Marluxia stared at her for a long moment, then stepped back, retreating back to his end of the room. He felt unnerved. When Naminé predicted a new recruit… a new recruit was swift to follow. This meant that somewhere out there most likely was a blond boy with blue eyes and black-and-white clothes… and his entire life was about to be turned on its head, whether he wanted it or not. And nobody, ever, wanted it – wanted _this._ Marluxia's hand went briefly to his stomach, as if reaching for… something. Something which was no longer there. It stopped as it touched against the fabric of his shirt, hung there for a moment, then lowered slowly to his side.

…Well. It was no concern of his. It wasn't like _he_ could make a difference for whoever this boy was; nor was it his responsibility to. His task was this: watching over Naminé. That was all he _could_ do. Others… would have to fend for themselves.

Marluxia leaned once again against the white, white wall in the white, white room, his arms returning to their crossed position over his chest while Naminé's pencils continued to scratch, scratch, scratch colour into the image of the 'new recruit'.

.o.O.o.

"Oh, man. Oh, _man._ I am so screwed."

Hayner's dread-filled voice had to rise to be heard above the cacophony of cheers and yells that made up the crowd surrounding the Struggle ring. Beside him, Roxas kind of had to agree, not that he was about to voice that opinion. Hayner didn't need confirmation; he just needed to mention the fact and let it speak for itself.

The day was hot, the sun dazzlingly bright, the smell of human sweat and vendor fries creating a humid melange that assaulted the senses. It was the advent of the Struggle Championship Tournament, Twilight Town's biggest affair of the year, drawing competitors and spectators from all over. The surrounding streets had been blocked off and set up with stalls selling trinkets and Twilight Town souvenirs, vendors offering a variety of deep-fried, artery-clogging foods and candy floss, and carnival games to keep younger kids occupied, like ball tossing and creepy revolving clown heads with dinky little prizes to be won.

At the centre of it all was the Struggle arena. This was where the focus of the festival-like atmosphere converged, forgoing some of its happy-go-lucky attitude for the aggression and tenacity of the fight. Competitors donned minimal protective gear and carried padded bats into the ring, but if anyone were to mistakenly think that the padding made it a safe sport, they'd know better as soon as they picked their teeth up off the floor after being slammed in the face by one. That was where the protective gear came in – it was little more than a buffer area around the face to prevent just that. The second blood touched the ground, the match was halted and forfeited. That just meant that instead you came away with a body covered in bruises and swollen knots all over the place. Struggle could be brutal, depending on who you fought. And right now, with Hayner next up in the fight schedule, the one dominating the ring was the most brutal of all.

Seifer Almasy had been slamming down opponent after opponent, crowing all the while. The guy was big to start with, but since his defeat to Setzer last year he'd been training at every opportunity, or so the rumour went. Pence's contribution to the discussion had been, "Steroids," with a sage and knowing nod. Hayner and Roxas, sitting on a bench beside the ring, near the scoreboard, weren't so sure about that. Seifer was stronger than last year, sure, but he was also dirtier than ever before. He'd obviously been memorising the weak points of the Struggle fighters he'd clashed with in past tournaments, which he targeted mercilessly, and none of the new fighters had been able to withstand the sheer, brute force of his swings. Seifer was tough with just his fists; put a bat in his hands, and he was damn near lethal.

"This is crazy!" Hayner exclaimed, dismay written all over his face, along with maybe a splinter of panic. "He hasn't lost to _anyone_ yet – he even beat Setzer!" Turning to Roxas, he demanded, "What the hell am I supposed to do? That asshole is going to pound me into the dirt!"

Ah, crap. He wanted reassurance. Roxas opened his mouth, unsure for a moment of what to say. After all, he was scheduled to fight right after Hayner, and he had no illusions about who his opponent was going to be when he stepped up there. He'd thought his best friend would remain content just with fretting over his imminent doom, but no – he wanted Roxas to bolster his confidence. Seeing as how Roxas had _zero_ confidence himself, it took a few seconds of soul-searching to come up with anything.

As Hayner's expression started to dim, Roxas took a breath, the other blond brightening slightly, expectantly awaiting his answer. "…Maybe Vivi will surprise us."

Hayner's disappointment was immense. His face actually sagged with the weight of his decaying hope. "Vivi," he echoed, tone withering. Roxas understood: he didn't believe it, either. He might as well have suggested that Seifer would go easy on them. Vivi was practically afraid of his own shadow, never mind that he followed Seifer around like an eager puppy and wouldn't have _dared_ to try and defeat him, even if he was capable of it – which he most decidedly was not. The only way Vivi would surprise anyone would be by lasting beyond the first strike.

Scratching his head agitatedly, Hayner again muttered, "Oh, _man."_

"Look – look, Hayner. Listen." Roxas made a second attempt, turning to his best friend, feeling the sun beating against his neck and the perspiration trickle through his hair. He couldn't leave it like this, couldn't let Hayner go into the fight expecting to lose. They probably were _both_ going to lose, and this time tomorrow would be lounging at Pence's place with ice packs on their injuries while nursing even more badly wounded pride, being mothered by Olette. But they could at least go down punching. Hayner sent a disgruntled glance his way. "Look, _someone_ has to beat him, right? Don't give up before you've even stepped into the ring, man – you have to give this your all, and you know why?" When Hayner hesitantly shook his head, Roxas leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, with wide, blue eyes, "We can _tag team him."_

Hayner raised an eyebrow. "We can what now?"

"Tag team!" Roxas repeated, and despite himself, actually started warming to the idea, dubious though it probably was. "Seifer is killing it out there this year, right? He's on fire. _But,"_ he added quickly, lifting a finger before Hayner could give voice to whatever sour remark was rising up to Roxas' less than inspirational speech, "but he's been fighting for a while now, and he used up a lot of his energy on Setzer."

"He got a break after Setzer, though," Hayner pointed out.

"Doesn't matter." Roxas waved a hand, preferred to ignore such obstacles to his budding plan. "He's still gotta be tired, right? It's hot, he's been in the ring most of the day, barring breaks. The fact is, he's _worn out._ He _has_ to be. He's still fighting well, but he _can't_ be as quick on his feet, or as hard with his swings."

"So you think I have a chance?" Hayner again started to brighten, though it was muted by doubt. They both glanced over at the ring, where the fight between Seifer and Vivi was about to begin. Seifer looked… pretty good for someone who Roxas was trying to convince them both was running out of steam. His lackeys, Fuu and Rai, had been keeping him well hydrated in the heat. Add to that the fact that the guy was on a natural high from his many victories, and he was doing a lot to hurt Roxas' constructed image of him.

"Well… maybe…" He wasn't sounding too convinced about that one. Before Hayner could droop again, however, he forged on with, "But my idea is that _together_ we can beat him – you and me both!"

Hayner squinted a sceptical eye. "Come again?"

Roxas leaned a little closer, beginning to get excited. "Think about it! If you go in and throw everything you've got at him, tire him out _further,_ and then _I_ step in and throw everything _I've_ got at him, if we really wear him down, we could beat him!"

Hayner considered this for a moment. "…But I'd still lose," he eventually said. Roxas shook his head impatiently.

"No, you wouldn't – because it'd be a joint effort. You tire him out, I'll slam him down! And I wouldn't just go to collect the Struggle belt on my own, it'd be you and me _both_ up there, holding it together, and Seifer would have to _suck it."_

At the last two words, Hayner snorted in amusement. "Well, I _do_ like the idea of that ass having to watch us take the Struggle belt from him…" Roxas grinned, holding out his fist. Hayner eyed it for a moment, then balled up his own and bumped the two together. "Okay. Let's do this."

"Official partners in Operation 'Take Down Seifer'," Roxas declared.

The fight announcer called through his megaphone, _"Readyyyyyy – aaaaannnnnnd – Struggle!"_

They turned towards the ring with new confidence, to watch what was doubtless going to be a short and unpleasant match between Seifer and Vivi. And indeed, it was: in the span of ten seconds…

Vivi smashed Seifer to his knees.

With mouths hanging open, Roxas and Hayner watched in disbelief as Seifer swayed, arms visibly shaking… then, without a sound, flopped forward onto his stomach and stopped moving. A stunned silence swept over the crowd, which stretched for several long heartbeats as the spectators and announcer alike tried to process the speed and ferocity of what had just happened.

Gradually, an unsettled murmuring filled the air, the crowd shifting uneasily, while the announcer hurried up onto the ring. He bent at Seifer's side, Roxas and Hayner jumping to their feet, craning to see, along with everyone else, what his condition was.

After a minute, the announcer stood up, raising the megaphone to his mouth. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, forgive the delay. Struggle contestant Seifer Almasy is unconscious, but not bleeding – therefore, his domination of the ring is over, and the Struggle goes on!"

The audience was confused for only a moment – then, all of a sudden, they were cheering. Nearly roaring. Seifer had been their darling for a while, but the mob was fickle, and Vivi was their champion now. He had defied all odds and defeated the undefeatable fighter. It was damn near a miracle.

"Holy fucking _shit,"_ Hayner said, his hollow exclamation representative of exactly how Roxas was feeling. Neither of them could quite believe what had just happened, even though they'd each seen it with their own two eyes. Vivi had… _obliterated_ Seifer, without so much as a second's hesitation. Not only that, but he met his astounding victory with something weirdly like… impassiveness. It could be hard, at the best of times, to figure out what Vivi was thinking, what with his big, floppy hat and high collar obscuring most of his face – but anyone would think he was made of stone, the way he'd just stood back and silently watched the announcer check on Seifer and then announce his win. Vivi just… didn't seem to care.

"This is… weird," Roxas said, a thread of unease running through him.

Grimly, Hayner replied, "No, this is _bad._ We were worried about beating _Seifer,_ and he'd been fighting all day. Vivi is fresh in the ring and didn't even break a sweat with Seifer. There's no way the tag team plan will work on _him."_ They stared at each other for a long moment, the reality of his words sinking in. Then, Hayner started looking worried. He gazed over at the ring, to where the announcer and a few other organisers were carefully lifting Seifer up. His large, athletic body hung limp in their grasp – he was out cold. "Um." Hayner's anxiety was strong. "Is that – is that going to be _me?"_

Roxas hesitantly shook his head. "…No way. That – that had to be, like, repressed rage towards Seifer or something. Vivi must've snapped. Seifer's always been a dick to him."

"Yeah…" Hayner didn't seem convinced, but short of withdrawing from the competition, there wasn't much he could do. "Yeah, you're probably right. I've never done anything to him, so…"

They exchanged apprehensive looks, then glanced away. No point in thinking too hard about it. They'd find out for sure soon enough.

Entirely too quickly, after just a short break to take care of Seifer and let the crowd calm down, the Struggle announcer was back. He came over to Roxas and Seifer, asking, "Which one of you kids is next?" Cringing a little, Hayner lifted a hand. The man jerked his head towards the ring. "Okay, let's get this over with, huh? Try not to pass out like the last kid. Must'a got a touch of heatstroke or somethin'."

With a renewed spark of hope, Hayner turned towards Roxas. "Heatstroke! We didn't consider that!"

Roxas wasn't so sure. Seifer hadn't just 'passed out' – Vivi had moved almost too fast to see, the sound that his bat had made when it connected with Seifer, three times in those ten seconds, still seeming to echo in his head. But he smiled and nodded, hoping it was convincing, and answered, "Yeah!"

Who knew? Maybe the announcer was right; maybe Seifer had been ready to topple for a while, and Vivi had just got him at the right time. Maybe it had looked worse than it was because of the result – maybe Roxas was misremembering.

He hoped so.

He sat back down on the bench next to the scoreboard, and after the announcer adjusted the figures to reflect the most recent events, he turned towards the crowd and clicked his megaphone back on. _"With our reigning champion, Seifer, unconscious and out of the fight, the Struggle now takes place between surprising up-and-comer Vivi, and the new challenger, Hayner! How will this unlikely turn of events end up? Find out now, folks! Combatants, take your places!"_

Hayner entered the ring and said something to Vivi, who didn't react except to take his position in the winning fighter's position. Roxas saw his best friend frown, then Hayner, too, found his marked spot and crouched into a fighting stance. He looked a little nervous, with good reason. Vivi still didn't… seem right.

" _Readyyyyy – aaaannnnnd – Struggle!"_

Hayner threw himself across the ring at Vivi, who remained in place as he approached, not even bothering to try and defend himself. Hayner collected all his strength and went in for a stunning strike at Vivi's bat-wielding shoulder. Roxas found himself energetically nodding his approval – Hayner was being smart, he had assessed the situation and evidently hadn't been as willing to believe in the heatstroke theory as Roxas had thought: he was trying to weaken Vivi's swinging power. He cheered Hayner on, voice nearly tearing at his throat as the blow connected with enough force to probably numb Vivi's arm from the shoulder down to his fingertips. The crowd roared – then, almost immediately afterwards, it groaned deeply, like a wounded beast.

Roxas was on his feet in an instant, crying out as, without missing a beat, Vivi had tossed his Struggle bat almost casually to his left hand a split-second before Hayner's swing hit him, and with almost unbelievable power he struck back. He copied Hayner's move, smashing his right shoulder, so that, with suddenly spasming fingers, the blond dropped his bat. Vivi took one step backwards, and as Hayner bent to try and quickly snatch his bat back up – he slammed his own down, hard, onto Hayner's exposed head.

Hayner dropped like a sack of rocks, his long limbs splayed, his body falling on top of his Struggle bat.

He didn't get back up.

Roxas couldn't make a sound. Couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on Hayner's motionless form, sprawled out in the middle of the Struggle ring. He was aware of noise around him, but none of it filtered through – it might as well have been silent for all the attention he paid it. All he could see was Hayner. All he could hear was the thunder of his own heartbeat.

A flash of motion caught his eye – Pence and Olette, pushing through the crowd and rushing up into the ring. Galvanised by the sight of them, Roxas followed suit, breaking into a run, hurrying up the short steps onto the Struggle platform. He slowed as he reached his friends, Pence and Olette on their knees at Hayner's side, Olette with tears rolling down her face, Pence looking pale. Roxas, breathing hard, approached carefully, slow horror filling him as Hayner's slack face came into view. If Pence had looked pale, Hayner looked positively bloodless.

"Hayner…" Roxas' voice shook. As the announcer rushed alongside them and started checking for blood, Roxas' gaze lifted to Vivi. Again, Vivi stood back from the activity, staring but saying nothing, looking for all the world like he didn't even _give_ a damn that he'd just knocked two people unconscious. Feeling his anger rising, Roxas took a step towards him. He demanded, "What's – what's _wrong_ with you? What the hell is your _problem,_ Vivi? Hayner never did _anything_ to you! Does winning matter this much!?"

"Settle down, settle down." It was the announcer who answered him. Vivi didn't utter a word – just kept standing there like a freaking statue, giving no indication that he'd so much as heard Roxas' outburst, let alone cared. The Struggle announcer was pushing to his feet, signalling for the same people who helped him before with Seifer to come back up onto the platform. "There's no blood, so –"

" _Who cares about the fight?"_ Roxas shouted. "Vivi can't be allowed to continue, he's knocked _two guys_ out – this is _beyond_ brutal!"

"So was that Seifer kid," the announcer pointedly replied, "and if I recall rightly, he knocked someone out, too."

"Only once! And after a hell of a fight!"

"Listen, kid." The announcer took hold of his elbow and drew him to one side, so they were facing away from the spectators. "You scared? Is that what this is? If you don't wanna fight this kid, I'll understand, we can call a forfeit and no one'd blame you."

Anger nearly bubbling over, Roxas wrenched his arm from the man's soft grip. "You think that I'm _scared_ of Vivi? He just knocked out my best friend, I'm _pissed off,_ and I don't see how his tactics are okay."

The man shrugged. "Nobody's bled yet – that's practically the only rule there is. Your friend entered the arena with his gear on and had a good try, but ultimately the other kid was the one who knew where to hit to get the fastest results. It's rough, sure, but that's the Struggle. If you don't like it…" He trailed off, leaving it up to Roxas.

"I'm not forfeiting," the blond growled.

"Okay, then." The man nodded once, then turned away, and as the other organisers carrying Hayner away, lifted his megaphone. Roxas winced as, too close to his ears, he called, _"All righty, folks, that's two down for the count! Vivi, the new up-and-comer, looks like he might be the up-and-coming champ! Can our new contender, who also happens to be our_ final _contender for today, teach Vivi his place – or will Roxas join the other two in the medical tent? Find out soon, right here!"_

As he clicked the megaphone back off, Roxas muttered, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Prove me wrong, kid!" the guy cheerfully replied. He turned and left the platform, to be replaced by Pence and Olette.

"You're not _fighting_ him, are you?" Olette asked with alarm. "You can't! He's already – already hurt Hayner!" The tears shimmered in her eyes, both from Hayner's fate and the prospect of Roxas going the same way.

Pence added, "Roxas, it's probably _not_ a good idea – Vivi's obviously lost it. He's dangerous right now."

Glaring over at the figure of Vivi, standing calmly in the exact same position, Roxas said, "I know. But it's because of Hayner that I _have_ to fight." His gaze softened as he turned to Olette. "It'll be okay – really. Hayner wasn't sure how Vivi was going to be, but… I know." His voice turned hard. "I know to watch out. And when Hayner wakes up, he'll at least know that whatever happens next, I tried to avenge him."

"This isn't a TV show, Roxas!" Olette protested, wiping her cheeks. "You can't 'avenge' Hayner. You can only get _hurt."_

Roxas grimaced. "…Sorry, Olette." He clapped her on the shoulder, gave Pence a nod, and went to pick up Hayner's bat, still lying in the middle of the ring. It was fitting that he should use it to try and put a stop to Vivi. This way, Hayner was still in the fight to some degree – their victory would be a joint one, just like they'd planned.

He levelled the bat at the emotionless Vivi. "I don't know what your problem is," he hotly stated, "but I'm not going to let you do it a third time. This fight is for Hayner."

When Vivi didn't respond, he looked over his shoulder to see Pence leading Olette off the platform. Good. She was crying again, and yeah, he felt a spike a guilt over it – but Roxas didn't really feel like he had a choice here. Vivi was out of control… or something like that. Kinda hard to envision when he was acting so cold the rest of the time. But the thought of Hayner lying unconscious in the medical tent next to Seifer was too much to bear: Roxas _had_ to fight Vivi, if only to say he'd tried. It was only as much as Hayner would have done for him.

He took a breath, and found the X marked with duct tape which indicated the challenger's position. The announcer waited until Hayner had disappeared from the arena, then on came the megaphone, and, after some preamble chatter, the inevitable call of, _"Readyyyyy – aaannnnd – Struggle!"_

Both Seifer and Hayner had made the first move on Vivi, Seifer out of cockiness, Hayner out of an attempt to disarm him – so instead, Roxas hung back, gripping Hayner's Struggle bat tightly. He drew a deep breath, gazing hard across the ring at Vivi, who seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. Several seconds passed, with neither contender shifting from their starting position. Soon, the crowd began to murmur, all of them waiting for _someone_ to make the first attack.

Teeth briefly gritting, Roxas opened his mouth and barked, "What are you waiting for? Come and get me!"

At long last, Vivi spoke – but his voice sounded strange, thin and mocking, nothing like his usually soft-spoken self. "What are _you_ waiting for? _Loser."_

Roxas gaped. The audience was growing restless – someone yelled out, _"Move already!"_ He looked around, frustrated by all the staring eyes. Didn't they know this was more serious than some regular Struggle match?

Then again,maybe Olette was right – maybe he was being too dramatic about all this. After all, it was only Vivi; maybe he'd been secretly training all year, too. Or… really _was_ on steroids. It would explain the meanness. But ultimately, what it meant was that Roxas could still beat him. Struggle was Struggle. And Roxas was prepared for a hard fight.

"All right, then," he muttered. His mouth set in a determined line, he lowered himself, gathered his strength, and launched himself towards Vivi with a resolve to win. He was fast, which he used to his advantage as much as he could against this supercharged version of Vivi. The second he was within reach of his opponent, he suddenly changed direction, planting a hand on the ground and sliding his body low – passing just beneath a sharp swing aimed at where his knee had been. He _felt_ the breeze from it passing through his hair.

When he jumped back up, he was a little behind Vivi, and attacked without hesitation. Vivi leapt away, not before the tip of Roxas' Struggle bat managed to scrape him. It wasn't much, but it was better than anyone else had managed, and gave Roxas a rush of confidence. He pursued, swinging again, meeting Vivi's bat mid-flight, the two crashing together with enough force to jar Roxas' wrists. He determinedly clung to the handle of Hayner's bat, rapidly hopping out of range as Vivi aggressively tried to press the advantage. Somewhere distantly, Roxas thought he heard the crowd cheering. Right now, however, all his focus was poured into keeping out of range of Vivi's savage swings. There was a lot of _power_ in each arc that Roxas wouldn't have expected from Seifer's diminutive follower. That whole 'steroids' theory was becoming more realistic by the second.

Once his hands had recovered enough, Roxas went for another low slide, on Vivi's other side this time, twisting up to his feet with his right arm tensed to strike – but somehow, Vivi was already facing him, swinging his bat hard right into Roxas' stomach.

The air left him in a grunting rush, the blond staggering back. The next thing he felt was an immense impact on his bat-wielding shoulder, and, just like Hayner before him, the bat clattered from his hand the Struggle ring platform. The crowd roared. Vivi slammed his bat against the backs of Roxas' legs while he was still reeling from the shoulder hit, and all at once he was on his knees, looking up at Vivi, dazed by the speed and strength with which he'd completely overwhelmed him.

Vivi spoke again, and the cold sneering of it almost made Roxas shiver despite the day's heat and his own exertions. There was _malice_ in Vivi.

"Did you seriously expect me to fall for the same trick twice?"

He wound up with his Struggle bat for the finishing blow, Roxas able only to close his eyes and wait to wake up in the medical tent beside Hayner. He felt the force as it hit him – square in the solar plexus. His eyes popped open, cheeks bulging out with forcibly exhaled air. He choked and groaned as he slammed onto his back. Dizzily, it took him a few seconds to realise that he was still conscious. Was that… was that a good thing? Was that a victory, small and pitiful?

It didn't – feel like a victory. In fact… out of the blue, something felt incredibly _wrong._ A wave of cold spread through Roxas from the point of impact of Vivi's bat, which had been stabbed into him like a fencing epée. As he struggled to regain his breath from the lung-punching impact, Roxas couldn't shake the sensation that – that maybe he'd been badly damaged by Vivi's final lunge. Internal bleeding? Cracked ribs? But it felt like more than that – like maybe he'd lost… _lost_ something. Like some part of him had been amputated, and a gaping hole was exposed.

When he didn't – couldn't – immediately get back up, the match was halted. Roxas didn't know if this meant he'd lost or not, but also didn't really care. Something was _wrong,_ damn it. He needed… _help._

Soon, heads started crowding his vision as he lay panting on his back, blocking out the bright blue sky with its few scudding clouds. He recognised the match announcer, then Olette and Pence, their faces fearful. Then, as if they all noticed the same thing at once… their expressions changed. While previously the fear in their features had been dedicated to Roxas' well-being, hoping he was okay, concerned that he might have been hurt – now it twisted, becoming deeper, with an element of blank shock. Olette suddenly burst into tears and turned away, Pence grabbing hold of her, not so much to comfort her but… as if to keep himself upright. The announcer's face went dark, then pale, eyes wide, mouth trembling.

Alarmed by their reactions, dread growing, Roxas struggled to speak. It took a minute of trying to get enough breath, and form the right words: "Wh… what? What is it? What's… happened to me?"

Pence reached almost unconsciously for the crystal pendant hanging from his neck. Olette, Roxas noticed, was clutching her own. So was the Struggle announcer. They were all… clinging to their pendants, where within each gently glowing crystal their souls were contained. Everyone had one, from birth. Everyone… had a soul, and all souls had a crystal in which they resided, the pendant acting as keeper and protector, container of – being, of identity, of _light._

Roxas' fingers crept up his body, reaching for his own. The crystal that had been part of him since forever, literally forever, through one life, and the next, and the next, each time being brought back, given to a new body, a new host, because the body was just a vessel, a carrier of the soul, it was the soul that contained everything that _made_ a person, that defined them…

But… Roxas' was gone. His fingers met with… fragments.

His crystal was broken. But that was impossible. The crystals – were _unbreakable._ They, they couldn't just _smash,_ and there was no way in hell that a _Struggle bat_ could do that sort of damage anyway, and… and… Oh, God. If his crystal was gone, then didn't that mean…?

Roxas had no… _soul._

The cry that lifted from his lips started off deep and guttural, before rising to an agonised wail. Olette sobbed. Roxas stared up at nothing, chest heaving, voice withering away. His eyes were wide and blank, his heart all but frozen. All around them, the crowd's murmuring started to gain volume, confusion spreading, and soon maybe panic would ensue. There was now officially a monster in their midst, after all – an empty, soulless being, a shell of a human who shouldn't even still be alive. How could anyone live without a soul? How could Roxas be allowed to continue to _live?_

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only lie there and stare upward, and it occurred to Roxas, somewhere inside the hollowness that was his existence now, when just half an hour ago he and Hayner had been aiming for the championship belt… that the sky had never looked so blue, nor the clouds so blindingly white.

It just didn't seem fair for something to look so lovely, when his whole world was at an end.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Roxas was taken, unresisting, from the Struggle arena to the Twilight Town police station, Olette's weeping echoing in his head. The two officers hadn't cuffed him, but they didn't need to – there was no fight in him. He was… empty, cold, his eyes staring at his feet the whole way to the station. All his strength had left him, so that on the cruiser's back seat, though he sat upright, he was… slouching, sagging, like a puppet with abandoned strings. They could have tossed him out of the moving vehicle, and he would have fallen gracelessly without ever making a sound.

Roxas was dead inside.

The drive to the police station occurred in perfect silence, as if the officers in the front were too afraid to speak. Nothing in their training could have prepared them for this. Soulless beings were… abominations. Barely human. Almost mythical in how infrequently they occurred. And now… Roxas was one of them. To be lost, forgotten, shut away where nobody had to look at him and his horrifying incompletion.

How… had this happened?

How?

They reached the station without him having found an answer. Roxas was escorted by the wary police officers to an empty interview room and left there, the door closed and locked behind them. He made no attempt to look around at the room, or consider the notion of trying to get away. It didn't even occur to him to make any demands – a lawyer, a glass of water. He just… sat there, at the small table, in the hard chair, in the featureless room, and waited. He had no idea what he was waiting _for,_ he just… he didn't know what to do. His entire being was numb.

He… he didn't really have a 'being' anymore. It had been broken. It was gone. He wasn't… Roxas anymore.

Time passed. Hours, it seemed like, but he was too vacant to care. At one point, he started to feel tired, and placed his elbows upon the table, hunching into himself. He heard a low sound, and glanced down to see – his pendant. What was left of it. The chain was still hanging from his neck, and from the pendant's casing, some shards of crystal still clung on. He stared at it for a long minute. Did those shards… still contain any of his essence? Was there anything of himself left? He raised a hand, stirring at long last from his daze, and cupped the hanging pendant. He lifted it closer to his eyes, then hesitantly touched the broken pieces of crystal. He stroked a long shard, finger trembling, then – _"Ah…"_ He had accidentally poked a shattered corner. It – it cut him. There was a short, thin slice on his fingertip, starting to bead with tiny drops of red.

His jaw shivered, lips unsteady. He stared at the cut, feeling something start to… swell inside him.

What that something was, he didn't have a chance to find out. When the door abruptly opened a bare second later, it elicited a startled twitch from him. He twisted slowly to see who had entered. Was it someone coming to punish him? To lock him away to rot? Would he even blame them they did?

A tall, thin man entered the room, dressed in black. Beyond him, Roxas caught a glimpse of the station chief, a guy who was actually Olette's uncle's cousin. Roxas had met him a couple times at barbeques over the years. When the man looked at him now, there was no hint of recognition in his features – only uncertainty, and fear.

The man who entered the room, Roxas didn't recognise. He had long, blue hair, and a scar like an _x_ across the centre of his face. His expression, unlike the station chief's, held an almost preternatural calm. Roxas eyed him with a flicker of suspicion. This guy had to know what he _was_ now, right? How could he be so – relaxed?

Turning his head to the station chief, the newcomer said, in a smooth, mild voice, "You may leave us."

The chief needed no further instruction. He closed the door firmly behind the blue-haired man. The man studied Roxas for a moment, with steady, golden eyes. Then, he said, "Your name is Roxas." It wasn't a question. Maybe he was seeking confirmation, but Roxas didn't answer, instead straightening carefully as the man approached the desk. He took the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking momentarily displeased by the discomfort it provided. "I am Saix," he went on, continuing his earlier statement. He then stopped, and this time waited for Roxas to say something. He seemed to be in a patient mood; it felt like he'd wait a while.

Eventually, Roxas dully asked, "Are you here to take me away?"

Saix answered evenly, "That depends on you."

Warily, Roxas held his gaze. He swallowed, brow creasing with incomprehension. This… strange visitor didn't even falter when their eyes met, didn't seem to _care_ that he was in the same room as a monster. "Don't… you know what I am now?"

"Yes. You've lost your soul." Roxas flinched. The man said it so bluntly, so – _impassively._ Like it was nothing to write home about. "I understand that the event took place around two o'clock this afternoon, during a tournament of some kind. It took an hour for the authorities to get around to contacting us, and then a further three hours for me to get here. I hope the wait wasn't uncomfortable for you."

 _Wasn't uncomfortable…?_ Feeling a twinge of bewilderment, Roxas had to ask, "Who _are_ you?"

Saix gave him an appraising look, then replied, "I am a member of an elite group interested in people like you."

"People like…?" Roxas shook his head, his vacant stare returning to his hands. "I'm not a person anymore," he distantly said. "How can you… know about me losing my soul, but not know that?"

"Not a person? Then perhaps I, too, am not a person."

It took a moment for this to sink in – then Roxas, brows quirking together, apprehensively looked over at the man. Once he was sure he was paying attention, Saix reached up to the zipper at the front of his long, black coat, and very deliberately tugged it down to display a section of his chest. For emphasis, he peeled the coat away, showing bare flesh and the slight glimpse of a dark undershirt lower down, but…

No pendant.

"You see, I, too, am like you," Saix told him, with all the calm in the world. He zipped his coat back up once he was sure Roxas had comprehended the demonstration. Roxas – felt like he'd been punched. All of a sudden, there wasn't enough air in the room – in the _world._

He regarded the man with a budding sense of horror. "You're… you don't have a…" His voice was choked, throat thick. He couldn't form a coherent sentence. It was Saix who finished his thought for him.

"I am what is known as a 'Hollow'. That is what you are now, as well. We are the Hollow. We have no souls."

Roxas felt himself starting to tremble. He couldn't – handle the matter-of-fact way in which Saix said everything. Did he not _care_ about what he was saying? What he was admitting to?

Or maybe… this was what having no soul meant.

Maybe you lost the part that cared, or was scared. The part that felt – anything. It would explain the emptiness in Roxas. So, then, he was just… like Saix? He didn't feel things anymore?

Maybe… that was better. Maybe feeling nothing was the only way anyone ever survived this. Roxas hadn't expected to keep on breathing without a soul, but his body, it continued just fine, heart pumping, lungs working, blood flowing, brain thinking. And that made sense, because the soul wasn't connected to the flesh – it was in the crystal. So take away the crystal…

So, this was how you were meant to act, when you were hollow.

Something in him quietened at the thought.

When Roxas next lifted his chin, there was a dimness to his eyes. "So, what was it you were saying? About taking me away?"

Saix looked almost approving. "I came here to offer you a place among us. With your own kind. Out in the regular world, you will be regarded as an abomination, but with us, you will merely be home. It is the only chance you have to lead any kind of life from here, Roxas. We will take care of you."

"And your... 'elite group'… who are you?"

"We are called the Organisation."

"…Are you all like this? Soulless?"

"We are all among the Hollow, yes." Saix inclined his head, a sort of grace to his every movement that Roxas, still trembling, dirty, sweaty, and quite frankly exhausted, couldn't hope to mimic.

"So there are more?" he asked, almost unable to believe it. He had thought he was alone in this – the only soulless being to speak of. An anomaly, and certainly a mistake. The thought of there being others like him… was that comforting, or terrible?

"Will you join us?" Saix asked.

Roxas grimaced, sitting back in his chair. He thought for a moment. "You came here for _me?_ You want me to join you?"

"I wouldn't have come all this way if we did not," Saix told him. "Ultimately, the decision was not my own, but I am not against it. The offer comes from a higher power."

Curiosity uneasily piqued, he asked, "Who?"

"Someone who wants to offer you a better life than the rest of it spent in an institution of some kind, locked away from the world." Saix sat forward a little, his eyes boring uncomfortably into Roxas', though his speech remained soft and unhurried. "Nobody out there knows what to do with you, Roxas. Nobody knows how to react. There are others like us, yes, but we are the rarest of the rare. Among us you will find your only haven. I can honestly tell you that I don't know what will become of you if you don't leave with me now."

Roxas' insides twisted. His hands echoed this, fingers knotting together and squeezing hard. The cut on his finger stung with a throb. What Saix was saying made sense – there was no precedent in place for creatures like him. He wasn't a criminal, yet he wasn't human anymore, as far as anyone was concerned, least of all himself. Yet here was Saix, offering him a safe place – among other soulless beings. Roxas almost shuddered. What sort of place would that be, he wondered? Did it matter? Did he really have a choice, one way or the other?

But there was still just… one snag.

Voice nearly a whisper, Roxas asked, "What about my friends?"

Saix's gaze was unwavering. "Do you truly believe they could ever be in the same room as you again?"

He blinked rapidly, expression contracting. "But – but Hayner – he was unconscious in the medical tent. I have to see him – have to talk to him." _And Pence. And Olette._ He couldn't just leave them behind – they were his best friends.

"You are as good as dead to them now," Saix flatly told him, the harsh truth of his words cutting like a knife. Roxas' expression dropped, desperation fleeting but powerful… and then it all fell away. The numbness once again took over, and where once he might have been devastated, now it was more as though… as though intellectually, he found some distress in this, but – in his chest, he felt almost nothing. It was like the entire cavity had been packed with snow. It was simply taking his head a while to catch up.

He wondered if, before too long, he would cease remembering what it was like to feel at all.

Really, Saix was right; he might set up a meeting with Hayner, Pence and Olette, but then what? Why do it? So he could rub it in their faces, they who still had souls, that he was lost to them? So he could rub the salt in his own wounds, he who now had no soul, that there was an unbridgeable rift between them? So that he could see the fear in their eyes, the revulsion at his existence? So he could confirm, for once and for all, that he was everything wrong that anyone could ever dream of?

…No. Better to leave it. Better to keep them as memories how they were, than to have that final confrontation seared upon his mind.

Gradually, Roxas started to nod.

"Then, your answer?" Saix prompted.

Roxas regarded him heavily, tone muted as he agreed, "All right. I'll go with you."

There was a hovering hint of a smile on the man's face. "Very well."

.o.O.o.

The path out of the police station was practically deserted, Roxas trudging along behind Saix, who moved confidently, his black coat drifting slightly behind him. They passed by the station chief at the front desk, who eyed them both nervously. Saix, barely sparing him a glance, announced, "I will be taking the boy with me. Your cooperation has been appreciated."

The man lowered his gaze and shortly nodded. Roxas stared at him as he passed, but at no point did the chief look at him. The blond was released without a word – without even caring where he was going. He was nothing but… a complication now. One to be removed as swiftly as possible.

He followed Saix out into the rapidly dimming twilight. The warm air of the day was beginning to cool as the sun relinquished its grip on the horizon, while a tepid breeze breathed its way through the streets. If Roxas turned his head just so, he could still smell a hint of the festivities of the Struggle tournament – a whiff of fried food. It might as well have been an entire universe away.

Hayner flickered through his mind: would he be awake by now? Was he okay? Was his head hurting too badly? …Did he know yet? About Roxas?

He stood on the pavement outside the police station and looked slowly up and down the street. It was as if… he was waiting for his friends to show up, out of nowhere, summoned by the fact that he was leaving. Would they ever even know what had happened to him? Where he had gone? Even he didn't know where he was going.

Saix had gone to a gleaming black luxury car parked in front of the station. A stocky, blond man with a stubbled jaw had been leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, but at the sight of Saix emerging from the police station, he had lazily dropped the butt to the ground and stepped on it. Through his final exhalation of smoke, he squinted at Saix, then Roxas. "We good to go?" he asked the blue-haired man.

Saix paused, turning to Roxas. "Over here, please. It's a long drive back."

With the breeze ruffling his blond spikes gently, Roxas gave the open streets of Twilight Town one last, long glance. Nobody was coming. His gaze settled on the clock tower over the train station, visible from here, and for a stretching moment he gazed at it, taking it in. It was iconic of Twilight Town, instantly recognisable… and he was leaving it, perhaps forever.

"…Roxas."

He hesitated, then went to join Saix beside the car. The stubbled, cigarette-smoking man opened the door to allow them entry into the long back seat, Saix folding himself elegantly into the vehicle. Rubbing a thumb across his nose, the man, whom Roxas assumed now to be the car's driver, said, "Don't feel too grim, kid. Things'll work out."

From within the car, Saix's voice floated out: "Cid, please refrain from saying unnecessary things."

Roxas stared at the man, first at his kind face, then down to where his pendant hung, emitting a gentle glow. He still… had his soul. So then, why…?

"Roxas."

Saix had to keep prompting him to continue moving. His every motion jerky and stilted, Roxas complied, entering the car automatically at the sound of his name, forgetting, for now, the man named Cid.

The door was shut after him, sealing him in with Saix. The noise that the closing door gave was almost unrecognisable – it was such a soft sound. Roxas found himself in the interior of a car the likes of which teenagers rode to prom: sumptuous leather seats, air conditioning to keep the temperature pleasant, padded arm rests, a dormant TV screen embedded in the wall separating the driver's area from the passengers'. That wall also had a black window, which now lowered with an electronic whir, showing a glimpse of Cid in the driver's seat.

"Orders?" the man asked.

"We're returning to Radiant Garden," Saix informed him, Cid nodding and responding, "Roger that."

The window went back up, leaving Roxas with Saix, the blond feeling a spike of apprehension at the brief exchange which had taken place. "Radiant Garden? That's – hours away."

"As I had already mentioned, I'm sure," Saix confirmed in a clipped manner. "Yes, Radiant Garden, and yes, it is a distance from here. That is where you will be living from now on."

Roxas felt an edge of incredulity brush against his detachment. Was this really happening? This morning he had been _normal,_ and now he was being taken away from Twilight Town, to go to _Radiant Garden,_ which was so far away that he had only been there once in his entire life. There were other cities, closer cities, that had made it so that Radiant Garden wasn't anywhere he needed to go. It was a big place, and an old one, but just not a city he had ever given much thought to.

Seeing doubts starting to surface in him, some of the reality of his situation starting to sink in and give him pause, Saix reminded Roxas, "Make no mistake – you are an empty abomination. The difference is that with us, you may find a modicum of acceptance. Even if your friends somehow welcomed you, what then? What sort of life could you possibly live? They would be the only ones who believed in you. People would see you with them, and what would they think? You would alienate them from society. And then, how would you support yourself? Simply relying on your friends for the rest of your days? Further than that, what would you do when they get a little older and want to get married, start families, decide that they would rather live their own lives properly than shield a creature such as you? Think ahead, Roxas. Radiant Garden is your only sanctuary."

While Saix hadn't given this speech cruelly, or harshly, or – with anything but that same steady tone he had employed during their entire brief acquaintanceship, it struck Roxas as… savage. It robbed him completely of hope, presenting him with this... terrible truth. But then... maybe that was what he needed. Hope would help nothing. Hope would get him nowhere. He needed to... to take his cue from Saix and simply... accept. Whatever anxiety had been starting to gather now died back down. Yes – this was the only way to do this. What did it matter if he was in Radiant Garden, or anywhere else for that matter? To the world, he was already as good as dead. Maybe worse – like something that was supposed to be dead, but refused to die.

Mouth closing, Roxas sank down into the seat, which, though insanely comfortable after those hours spent in the police station chair, he nonetheless took little pleasure from. He was sure that that, too, was for others now – there was no way a creature like himself could take pleasure in anything anymore.

Saix, satisfied that he was now convinced, appeared to relax. He crossed his legs, and looked out the side window. "There's nothing here you'll miss," he promised Roxas. "A little town like this has nothing to offer."

Roxas stared sightlessly out his own window, and didn't bother to respond.

The car started up, and with a nearly soundless engine, rolled smoothly away from the curb. The police station dwindled behind them; then the street; then the central district; then the tram lines; then the houses; and then… Twilight Town became a dot, as the black car accelerated along the interstate highway.

Eventually, Roxas' hometown was gone, and the dark of night engulfed him.


End file.
